


Write Our Names In The Wet Concrete

by PlatinumAndPercocet



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Alternate Universe - No Band, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Drug Addiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-01-22 00:41:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12469644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlatinumAndPercocet/pseuds/PlatinumAndPercocet
Summary: Nobody is from L.A., or so the saying goes.  In a town of glitz, glamor, and dreams, everything can seem perfect for the cameras, but what happens once the lights go down and the set clears? Sometimes the stories behind the scenes are far more interesting than the ones unfolding on it.





	1. I'm Done With Having Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Well, another start to a sporadically updated story from me. I blame this on SnitchesAndTalkers because she is an endless enabler. And I am forever thankful for that. 
> 
> Comments, kudos, and questions can make the difference between a bad day and an amazing one. It only takes a few minutes, Y'all. If you like it, hit a button? Maybe type a few words. It also tends to have the bonus of making people write faster so, you know. There is that.
> 
> This has, as is my usual, not been beta read because I am impulsive. That is it, no real excuses. Sorry. 
> 
> Thank you and all of the van days Patrick pics to SnitchesAndTalkers for being my cheerleader and encouraging all of my probably poor decisions. You are glorious. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who takes the time to read this. Your day is valuable and the fact that you share some of it with me means the world. 
> 
> Aural Pleasure: 'The Last Of The Real Ones' by Fall Out Boy

"Come on, Ellie Bee, it’ll be fun, I promise.” The words were light and airy, almost ethereal as they drifted to my ears and I couldn’t help but smile at the familiar voice. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard the declaration, nor would it be the last, but that was Audrey for you. My big sister was always making grand plans and sweeping declarations, and even when she couldn’t follow through on them fully, there was always something of them in whatever the inevitable outcome was. I followed the sound of her voice through the crowd, the flashing lights and writhing bodies posing much more of a challenge that I had thought as they moved in tandem to the heavy, almost painfully loud music that blasted overhead. 

I could see her, at least I thought, long blonde hair shot through with streaks of eye-searing green that glowed under the blacklights weaving back and forth through the seemingly impenetrable crush of people. The music grew louder, shaking me to my very bones; it was a song I knew but couldn’t place, the haunting vocals seemingly at odds with the frantic techno beat, a snippet of words here and a phrase there. I knew it, somehow, but the title, even the artist, escaped me. It was of little concern as I pushed along, shoving pointlessly with tiny, ineffective hands that may very well have been pushing against a granite wall for all the good it was doing.

I had spent more nights than were probably healthy bouncing around in the pits at rock shows in dive bars with Audrey far before I was legal, but all of my learned tricks and tactics seemed to be failing me now as my sister wove out of my sight, vanishing into the deep, velvet blackness on the other side. I was small, a fact that occasionally came in handy, and I dropped my head as I pushed and shoved as best as I could, forcing a path as best as I could. It seemed never ending, the pressing crush of the crowd and the almost blistering heat that they seemed to give off, and when I finally shoved through the far side, stumbling into the dark wall, I had to take a deep breath as my senses adjusted from the overload. 

Somehow I heard the click of a door and looked up just in time to see green-streaked blonde swinging just before it closed. Blowing out a long breath, I pushed off the wall and headed out, following Audrey as close as I could which, honestly, was not at all. She was fast, always had been, and the darkness had always been her home. 

The air in the alley was cold and fetid at the same time, sending a shiver down my spine even as my stomach churned. I ran my hands up and down my bare arms as I walked towards the dim streetlights that seemed to glitter off of the puddles that had formed on the cracked asphalt. Where the hell was she?

“Ellie Bee…” I felt her presence before she spoke and I knew, somehow, that something was wrong. Her voice was cracked and dry, there was no trace of the laughter or light that I’d always associated with her while I was growing up; before things got bad. She had faded, going from neon colors and impossible strength to a fragile, broken caricature of who she was; my hero rendered helpless from a cocktail of booze and pills. If she kept going at this breakneck pace, she was going to crash and burn if I couldn’t stop her. There was still time though, there was always time. 

My footfalls were loud in the silence of the night, the smack of rubber against wet asphalt ringing in my ears as I broke into a run, a flash of golden hair illuminated by the streetlights. My gaze was focused on the image that seemed to almost flicker in front of me and so I didn’t see the object that I tripped over, merely a flash of white just instants before I toppled to the ground. It was cold and wet, the pavement cracking and cutting into my palms as I stupidly held them out in front of me to catch my fall. The sudden flare of pain in my left wrist was easily ignored for the moment as I pushed myself up from the slushy puddle I’d landed in, the ends of my long, blonde hair floating in the murk. Shaking to clear my cloudy vision, I pushed myself upright to blink down at what I’d tripped on. Pale white, gleaming in the moonlight, a slight give, just the merest hint of warmth… A person. I’d tripped over a person. 

My stomach dropped as insidious thoughts crept into my mind far faster than I could push them out. No. Nope. It could be anyone, literally, anyone in the entire world… and then I saw it, tiny and stark against the rapidly cooling skin. The bee was small, not even an inch across, and wearing a mask, just on the inside of a delicate wrist. Audrey. 

The body lying in the alley, still and cold, was my sister. Her eyes, once such a vibrant, sparkling blue were glazed as they stared off into the endless nothingness above and fine cracks formed on her skin as though she were a doll that had been cast aside when her owner got too old, carelessly left to break. She looked like one too; delicate skin far too pale, hair in a green striped halo around her head and her eyes… deep blue, once bright and twinkling with mirth, were vacant and dull; lifeless. Lifeless. I wanted to cry, to scream or throw something but my words trapped themselves in my throat, sticky and viscous. All I could do was watch, helpless in the moonlight as the cracks deepened and she began to crumble into ash, her cold hands somehow tightening on my shoulders, nails digging into my skin as I fought against the seemingly endless strength of the thing that had been my sister, a desperate cry finally breaking the silence.

 

The scream that shattered the silence wasn’t from Audrey… it was from me and the hands that were on my shoulders were strong and gentle, far too large for Audrey, even if she could have held me down. I fought against the grip, my eyes squeezed shut as tightly as I could as I clung to the last vestiges of sleep desperately trying to hold onto the moments, however terrifying that they were, which brought back something I lost. My throat was raw from screaming and it wasn’t until a pair of strong arms wrapped around my shoulders and I was tugged gently back against a warm, somehow familiar body that I stopped fighting, stilling at the quiet almost soothing words that finally broke through my panic. 

“ El, come on Sweetheart. Ellery, it was just a dream. I promise it was just a dream. You’re okay.” The voice was warm and low, safe in some way that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Patrick. Shit. 

Finally opening my eyes, I blinked at the sting of salty tears mixed with eyelash glue and gave silent praise to the make-up artists as I swallowed thickly, my throat parched. “I’m sorry.” My voice was scratchy and broken as I managed to speak and I squirmed in a vain attempt to get comfortable despite the layers of thick, stiff fabric. Trick laughed and pressed a kiss against the top of my head. Or at least what would be the top of my head under all of the fake hair that had been sewn in. 

“No apologies. But you are buying me coffee when we get off in the morning, okay? You keep sleeping on my couch and I get stuck up all night.” My laugh was quiet but there, a sign that all wasn’t quite as lost as it could have been. Despite the nightmare rapidly vanishing from my actual memory, the image of Audrey’s eyes, blank and empty…. That hadn’t been a dream, as much as I had wished that it was. “You wanna talk about it, B?” The endearment was quiet, and one that nobody else could get away with using. I did, I really, really did, but I couldn’t, not now and absolutely not with Patrick. Discussing your personal tragedies with a studio executive was not exactly looked highly upon. 

Shoving the darkness back into the box that I kept it locked in in the darkest corners of my mind, I shook my head as if the motion would help. “No, no, I promise I’m okay. It was nothing but a dream. But thank you. I appreciate it more than I can say. And that goes for the couch too. I don’t know if you have ever tried to sleep in a corset and a bunch of fake hair but the shitty trailer couches just don’t work.” Grinning, I sat up slowly, stretching before standing and winking at the baby-faced ginger still sitting on the couch, hair rumpled and his head missing his customary hat. 

“You know, B, I haven’t recently so I’ll just take your word for it.” Even in the low light of the office, I could see Trick’s eyes gleaming with mischief, despite the exceeding late, or possibly the exceedingly early hour. I opened my mouth to reply but a burst of static and a call to set cut through the comfortable silence. Wrinkling my nose, I glared at the walkie-talkie, sticking my tongue out for good measure and earning a delighted laugh from my companion. 

“ That’ll show ‘em. Come on Lady B, time is money and for some reason, they put me in charge of keeping that to a minimum. Race you to the golf cart.” I didn’t have time to reply before he was gone, vanishing down the hall before I could even gather my skirts.

“Cheater!” The word echoed down the hall, tinkling with laughter as I followed behind him to head back to work, the nightmare forgotten, even though haunted blue eyes lingered in my thoughts.


	2. My Eyes Can't Believe What They Have Seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clubs, curbs, and corpses. Happy Friday!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I sat down to work on my Trick Or Pete piece, but for some reason this doc was open and, well... guess what? Oops. 
> 
> This one is a little outside my norm, as there is a POV shift in the middle. That will probably not happen again, but we needed a bit of insight that was not Ellery, so... sorry. Except not. 
> 
> Comments and kudos make the world go round for writers, seriously. A few minutes can make such a difference in a person's day. 
> 
> This has not, as per usual, been betad so it is probably full of mistakes. Sorry about that. Really, this time. 
> 
> Thanks and love go out to the ever amazing SnitchesAndTalkers for being an enabler and supporter that I absolutely do not deserve. You are golden. Thank you. 
> 
> Thank you so very much to everyone who takes the time to read this little tale, I am so appreciative and I hope you like it. 
> 
> Aural Pleasure; 'The Phrase That Pays' by The Academy Is...

I wasn’t usually one for going out unless I was contractually obligated, but it had been a long, grueling week, the latest in a series of them for this shoot, and Maja had some sort of weird persuasive power of convincing people to do things that they wouldn’t normally do. That was exactly how I found myself, with a good three-quarters of the main cast as well as a few department heads and not only our director but our producer too, at a filled to capacity club downtown, just a few miles from the studio and even closer to my apartment.

It had been a fun night, although that wasn’t unexpected. When you have a project this good, with this many devoted people working on it, anything that happens is bound to be a blast, even if it wasn’t exactly my style. The club was fantastic; good, loud music with just the right amount of bass, filled to bursting with the young and young at heart looking to let loose and maybe forget who they are, just for the night. There were at least three bars that I noticed, set up rather strategically around the expansive dance floor and the liquor was all top shelf, the lights glittering off of the cut glass bottles and rainbow-hued liquids inside. I stayed away from them as much as I could, ordering my Diet Coke with extra cherries as quickly as I could and weaving into the crowd towards the VIP tables that Maja, once again, had managed to commandeer. I swear that woman had the same kind of weird power that the nuns who had taught me in my formative years managed to possess; people were scared of her simply by her presence. It was hilarious, truly, because she was one of the kindest, most down to earth and flat out honest people that I had met in my time in this fake city.

Time moved differently in the make-believe darkness, ticking by in songs and screamed choruses rather than actual minutes, and the push of the people on the dance floor was getting stifling and I had to gasp for breath, my chest tightening up. Then again, that was probably due more to the flash of electric green hair under the strobe lights and the memories that came crashing back than actual exhaustion from dancing to the perfectly picked music that blasted from the speakers overhead. I wove away from my small crowd of friends, all deep in their cups by this point, and concentrated on simply breathing; reminding myself of the in and out that I needed with every step. When I finally broke through the throng of people at the edge of the dance floor, I kept my head down and headed straight to the tables where Maja sat, holding court with the DP, head hairstylist, make up head and first AD, all laughing uproariously. I caught her eyes, which were clear and sharp as ever, some thought deep in my mind telling me that the clear liquid and limes in her glass was all soda and no vodka. Not my place, at least not now. I forced a smile and gave a quick wave before spinning on my heel and nearly stumbling towards the door. 

The Los Angeles night was sticky but not stifling, thanks to the cool breeze that rustled the branches of the strategically placed trees along the sidewalks. It was heavenly though, in comparison to the stifling heat and crush of bodies inside the club as I stumbled out the doors, choking on my own breath as the raucous hollers and thumping bass faded when they closed behind me.

Making my way gingerly over to the curb, I plopped down on the concrete, the opposite of gracefully, and stretched my legs out, my toes pointing and flexing in the silver Tieks that I had insisted on. Yes, I would go out, but I refused to cave to anyone’s whims on comfort, not when I still had two months left of filming in a corset. Maja could keep her stripper stilts; I had my limits. Blowing out a long breath, I stretched towards my toes, feeling ridiculous as my barely approved top inched up my back over the waistband of the borrowed jeans that I was nearly poured into. I was tiny, but Jesus Christ, wardrobe didn’t fuck around. Wrapping my hands around the arches of my feet, I felt my spine pop and the contented pull of muscles that hadn’t been properly stretched in far too long. It was glorious if a bit of a strange thing to be doing on a curb in L.A. at two in the morning. Then again, there wasn’t really anyone else around at the moment, so I didn’t really give a shit and I fucking needed a minute to push away the memories that threatened to come flooding back. Of course that’s when I heard the quiet crunch of gravel under feet just before a pair of familiar black boots with black jeans tucked into them appeared in my line of sight as someone sat beside me during my impromptu curbside stretching session and, try as I might, I couldn’t hide my smile at the company. “Hey, Trick.”

************************************************************************************************************  
Patrick POV  
*************************************************************************************************************

I’d never really liked partying, it just wasn’t my scene. When given the choice between going out and staying in, I picked the latter as much as humanly possible. Yes, there were times that being social on a grand scale was unavoidable, a side effect of my job, but I tried to avoid it as much as I could. I wasn’t a big drinker, I was awkward as hell trying to make small talk and I absolutely lived up to my stereotype when it came to dancing. So why in the hell was I out, at a packed club, bobbing my head to music I could only vaguely recognize, making small talk with my cast and crew while nursing the same whiskey I’d had for three hours at two in the morning? Easy. The biggest name on my picture was manipulative as fuck and had sent Ellery to ask me to come. I should have been at home, on my couch with popcorn watching one of the nature documentaries that I had developed an unhealthy addiction to. If it had been anyone else asking, I would have refused, no problem, but I couldn’t seem to say no to this girl, no matter how much I might want to. This fact was not at all lost on Maja, who played it every chance she got. Like today. It had been a long shoot, and it was just barely halfway over, but these last few weeks had been something else; grueling hours and not nearly enough sleep had everyone on edge so a night out it was. Being in charge had its perks, one of them being able to avoid most of the shenanigans that most everyone else was forced into. Meaning, of course, I got to keep my cardigan, fedora, and boots while everyone else was forced to play dress up like Maja’s own personal dolls. It was amusing to a point, but I can’t imagine what was like from the other side. Everyone seemed happy, though and that really was what counted. 

I’d begged off the many wheedling attempts at getting me onto the crowded dance floor in favor of keeping my chair at one of the several high-top tables Maja had commandeered and just watched, piping into the ongoing conversations every once in awhile so I wouldn’t seem like too much of a ridiculous hermit. Really though, my gaze was mostly on the dance floor and the small group of actors and crew that were moving in time to the pounding bass that poured from the speakers. If B just happened to be in the midst of said group, well, so much the better. 

I didn’t notice the moment anything changed, having been drawn into a discussion with the DP about something rather inconsequential when I caught a flash of bright blonde hair and black sequins heading for the door without so much as a wave that I knew of. That was more than slightly strange. Downing the rest of my drink and grabbing my entirely unnecessary leather jacket, I made quick work of my goodbyes and headed for the doors, thankful once I stepped out into the late night air. The sharp contrast of the heat and noise inside with the quiet near coolness of the street was almost disorienting at first and my glasses fogged up at the drastic change. Wrinkling my nose, I tugged them off with a quiet huff and pulled the sleeve of my red sweater down even further over my hands, wiping my lenses clear before pushing them back up where they belonged and blinking at the sudden clarity. Fortunately, my brief delays hadn’t been enough time for me to actually lose sight of B and I couldn’t help my smile as I caught sight of her small form on the curb just a bit down the way from the doors, legs out in front of her and hands wrapped around her feet. The hem of her ridiculously small top was sliding up and I twisted my fingers in the cuffs of my sweater to push away the thoughts that sprang up unbidden. Now was not the time for my goddamn schoolyard crush to make itself known. Then again, it wasn’t like B didn’t know anyway. 

I wasn’t overt with my attention, though I wasn’t entirely subtle either, but she had made her wishes clear, and I respected that. I’d take my time with her however I could get it, but there was more than once where I could have sworn that my feelings weren’t one-sided. I refused to push it though and once I shook my thoughts away, I meandered over to sit beside her, tilting my head to the side and holding my fedora in place with one hand as I returned her smile. It was fucking light. “Hey, B. You doing okay?”

*************************************************************************************************************  
Ellery POV  
*************************************************************************************************************

 

The question, whether Trick knew it or not, was loaded as hell, and it was on the very tip of my tongue to just spill everything that had been building up for the last few months, but I bit it back. This was not the time nor the place, and definitely not the person to dump all of that on. As much as I liked Trick, and I really, really did, far too much for my own good, sometimes, my past wasn’t his burden to carry. No matter how close we were, or how many down hours we whiled away in his office on set watching Netflix and talking about everything except for my past, I couldn’t let myself get any closer, even if that little voice in my head said I could do exactly that. He was my boss, end of story. If something happened, especially with such a high profile project, the media would pick it up in an instant and the last thing I needed were rumors of a casting couch relationship. No, that wouldn’t happen, I had worked far too hard to let something so ridiculous ruin that. This movie, well the entire series, really, was huge; the next coming of Twilight, for a savvier, more cynical generation, despite the period setting. It was the beginning of an upward slope that many people only dreamed of and I was so far beyond ready. 

That still didn’t help me with the problem at hand, all five-foot-five of blue eyes and soft smiles, wrapped up in leather and topped off with one in a seemingly endless series of fedoras. I blinked the incoming thoughts away, that same little voice muttering about getting just a little bit closer, before I shoved it deep into a corner of my mind, locking it away. I pondered the question for a moment to bring myself back to the present. Sitting up straight, I wrapped my arms around myself, running my hands over my bare arms, my skin starting to prickle with the nearly unseasonable breeze. Then again, this shirt was little more than a glorified napkin and some dental floss, so it wasn’t really made for warmth. “It was just a lot, you know?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, although they were absolutely true, and it was not entirely a lie of omission, just a little bit. That was okay, right? As long as I was just lying to myself, nothing would go wrong. 

Trick, in all of his infuriating wisdom, just raised a brow at me before shifting and holding out his jacket to drape the garment over my shoulders without a word. I’d hate him if I didn’t like him so much. Grinning in thanks, I forced my arms through the sleeves which were ridiculously long on me, hanging past my fingertips, and pushed myself up off the ground, ignoring how fucking good the jacket smelled. “Walk me home?” It was a simple request, and not a particularly difficult one, but it was also one that I knew Trick wouldn’t refuse, mostly because it had become something of a tradition on these sporadic nights out that we had on the shoot. Unsurprisingly, he gave a nod, adjusting his hat quickly and hopping up. 

“As you wish.” I rolled my eyes at the ridiculous comment, swatting good-naturedly at his arm and missing by a mile as we both fell into step beside each other and began the brief walk to my apartment. 

The silence was comfortable as we walked, the need for conversation long past at this point and the exhaustion settling in quickly. My makeup call had been five AM and my attempted nap had been thwarted by a series of ridiculous errors that had finally lead to a near meltdown by the DP. I wanted to sleep. Fortunately, the city seemed to agree with me, and it was quiet, save for the occasional passing car as we wove our way farther from the club and closer to the residential neighborhood where I lived. We were maybe a mile from my subdivision when a sudden shatter of glass from an alley to my left caught my attention and I stopped dead to look over at the source of the sound. A stray cat, all bones, and matted fur pranced out of the dark space, a fat rat clenched tightly in its teeth, it’s crooked, scraggly tail stuck up proudly. The mangy creature and his dinner though, wasn’t what caused my blood to run cold, not even in the slightest. I could see, maybe ten feet from the alley entrance, an all too familiar flash of pale white, dim streetlights shining on golden hair and a crumpled form pulled in on itself tucked in amongst the garbage. My knees buckled as I stumbled over my feet, my stomach lurching into my throat and Trick’s hands tightened around my waist, tugging me backward even as I fought against him. 

This wasn’t happening, not again. The woman -the body, she wasn’t moving, of course not- was strewn amongst a collection of black plastic trash bags, her skin ghostly pale and hair glimmering like gold under the single street light that shone above. Her eyes were closed, thank fuck, but I could still picture them clear as day, staring blankly up at nothing. No. This wasn’t Audrey. It wasn’t. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t; it was worse than a traffic accident because I had seen this before, and I never forgot. It wasn’t an image that I wanted, but I still had it burned into my memory. The reminder was unnecessary, but apparently, the universe had other ideas. I could hear Patrick behind me, his executive voice on again as he efficiently rattled off our location, his phone in one hand and the other arm still wrapped tightly around my waist, although I had stopped moving and just stood and stared, beyond helpless as I gave in and sagged against his hold. 

The phone call ended and there was an eerie silence that hung in the air, unnatural for a city that was always alive. I could hear sirens faintly, although they were still in the distance. The police were never very far away. 

“B. Ellery, come on Honey, look at me.” Trick’s voice was gentle again, the brisk tone from the phone call gone, and I had to shake my head, blinking back the images of an ever familiar face from my mind as I finally turned my back to the poor girl that lay amongst the trash, not at all where she belonged. 

“It’s happening again. It can’t happen again.” My voice was quiet, the words little more than a whisper, and I could see a flash of confusion on Patrick’s face before I pressed my face against the softness of his sweater, hiding from the world as best as I could as the sirens echoed closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on Tumblr. Come say hi, fangirl with me and talk about bands, I promise I'm not scary. Not really anyway.


	3. Just Need Enough Of You To Dull The Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was another one of those chapters where I flailed ridiculously writing it and needed more validation than was truly necessary. It was not, however, meant to go in the direction that it did. Oops? 
> 
> Comments, kudos, and questions make the world go round. Seriously, comments though... better than gold. 
> 
> This has not been betad because, well, you know how I do. 
> 
> Endless love, thanks and treats to my dear SnitchesAndTalkers for being a voice of reason and an endless enabler. Thank you, my dear, I bow down. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who takes time out of their day, which could be spent doing a million other things, to read this hot mess. it means more than I can even begin to say.
> 
>  
> 
> Aural Pleasure: 'Twin Skeleton's (Hotel in NYC) by Fall Out Boy

No matter what they show in the movies and on TV, they can not accurately portray what it is like to find a dead body. They can try, and the best actors and directors even come close, but there is a certain pervasive feeling of dread that comes with finding someone after all of the life has left their eyes. You can’t shake it and it settles in your bones and lingers there, almost festers until you find a way to push it out and replace it with, well, anything I would imagine. Although if you know the person, if they were such a vital part of your life that you simply can’t fathom being without them, well, that is different. That feeling never quite leaves; it becomes a part of you, growing and twisting as it permeates every aspect of your life in some little way. 

Although I hadn’t made a habit of actually finding dead bodies, despite my stint of guest spots on police procedurals, I had found one before and the experience was not one I wanted to repeat. And yet, I had. The police officers, both of whom seemed just a bit overly familiar finally let Patrick and I leave after far longer than I wanted to be standing in the early morning cold. 

Trick was quiet, although I couldn’t blame him; the evening had taken a decidedly macabre turn. He kept his arm over my shoulders as we walked, falling in step almost naturally until the flashing lights were finally nothing but a memory. Patrick, not really one for small talk on a regular basis, seemed quieter than usual, although I couldn’t really blame him. My own head was still spinning and images of Audrey, both vibrantly alive and coldly dead seemed on a constant loop through my mind. It wasn’t until we were actually stopped that I shook out of my stupor and focused on what he was saying. If the look on his face was any indication, he had been talking for longer than I realized. 

“I’m sorry, what? I was kind of gone for a second there.” There was no better way to put it, and Patrick, that fuck for him, just nodded, although there was undisguised worry behind his eyes. 

“No apologies, Honey. I asked if there was anyone at your house. I don’t really think being alone is a good idea right now. I know I may be overstepping but B, you weren’t yourself back there. I’m actually closer anyway and I have a spare room made up.” He didn’t pry, and for that I loved him. 

“No, it’s fine. I’ll be okay on my own, I’m just a little shaken.” I had to force the words, and they were a bit of a lie, but I was an actress; lying was kind of my stock in trade. Then again, Patrick was well aware of that fact. 

“You are more than a little shaken, Ellery, don’t even try it. Look, I just- please, B?” His voice was almost painfully earnest and honest, the plea quiet as his fingers lingered with the collar of the leather jacket that was keeping me warm against the unseasonal chill that seemed to settle in the air. I knew I wasn’t going to win this one, even if all I wanted to do was go home, liberate some Jack Daniels and cry in my shower until I couldn’t feel anything. 

“Thank you.” It was barely a whisper, and I dipped my head in the slightest of nods, a lock of hair falling from my hastily knotted bun in front of my eyes. 

“Not necessary, B, you know that. Come on, let’s get you home, okay?” That was that Patrick’s arm was back around my shoulders as he guided me gently towards a nearby security gate, punching in a code and smiling easily at the guard in the small shack. If the gentleman thought it odd that Patrick was walking home at nearly three AM with a stranger, well, he didn’t let on. Definitely a step up from the subdivision my own townhouse was in, to say the least. 

Behind the gate, it almost seemed like another world than the one we had left ninety minutes ago. It was quiet and calm, the streetlights pleasantly dim but still safe. There were lights off in most of the houses that we passed, the windows dark as people were sleeping at this unholy hour. It didn’t take us long, maybe two or three blocks before Trick steered me up the driveway of an obviously expensive and modern but not at all ostentatious house. In fact, compared to some of the homes we had passed, it was downright subdued, although far more modern than many. It seemed as we walked up the short drive, somehow fitting for Patrick, at least from the outside. 

Once the key code was entered and the alarm disabled, we traded the cool night air for the artificial chill of an air conditioner, the low buzz echoing through the otherwise silent house. Compared to the dissonant hum of the Los Angeles night, the white noise of the house was almost jarring, the quiet screaming at me as I found less and less to focus on to fight the memories that the night brought, both tonight and those in the past. They fought with each other, pushing for space in my already addled mind and shaking my head to push them away did nothing but dislodge more of my hair from its precarious knot. 

“Come on in, I’ll make you some tea and then I’ll show you to the guest room. I’m pretty sure Pete is already asleep, he had a sixteen hour day with Gabe and Travie.” Somehow I had let myself forget about him, although I don’t know how because we had grown almost ridiculously close. Not in the same way as Trick and I, mostly because Pete and I were busy in very different places on set. There was a familiar easiness that I had found with him, in a different way than with Trick. I blamed the night, the long hours, everything but actual denial. Pete Wentz, stunt coordinator extraordinaire, occasional companion for Netflix binging on downtime, trusted confidante and Patrick’s boyfriend. They were both equally compelling and infuriating at the same time. I worked with the man on a regular basis; most people would be shocked at a number of stunts that even a period supernatural teen film could have, and it would be a flat out lie to say he wasn’t intriguing. I could have sworn there were touches that lingered just slightly too long here and there, especially when we were sprawled on the couch in Patrick’s office and some glances that I couldn’t quite explain, but I chalked that up to an overactive imagination and a perpetually empty bed. 

I could hear Patrick moving through the kitchen, filling a kettle and setting it on top of a sparked burner as he spoke, his familiar voice filling the silence that was otherwise almost overbearing. Toeing off my shoes and draping the borrowed jacket over a chair that stood by the door, I followed the sounds, my bare feet silent against the cool wood of the half flight of stairs that lead to the room. 

The lights were dim, the burner glowing blue as I watched Patrick work with an almost obscene grace as he gathered mugs, tea, sugar, and cream, setting everything just so on top of the island that sat in the middle of the kitchen, lining them beside the cooktop. The soft tinkling of china and silver against granite was the only sound as I boosted myself up onto the cool countertop, much to Patrick’s amusement. His laugh was genuine, sweet in a way that was very much needed after tonight, and my own smile, although real, seemed almost insufficient in comparison. 

“Are you alright, B? I mean really. Because, well, tonight was fucking horrifying but you said again…” There was the faintest suggestion of hesitance at the words, and Trick leaned against the counter beside me, his face open and his hands dancing along the edge of the island. 

“I’ll be fine, I just… can we not talk about it now, please, Trick?” I sounded weak, and I felt exactly that, as though I had been run through a ringer and everything, all of the fight, every bit of strength that I had; anything that wasn’t just the emptiness that had filled me since we had passed that alley what seemed like hours ago had drained out of me. 

“B, I’m not quite sure I believe that.” There was an edge to Patrick’s tone that I recognized from set on more than one occasion, usually when we were in overtime. It was something I couldn’t argue with, not even if I wanted to. 

“You don’t have to, Trick, but can you just not push this, not tonight please?” I kept my gaze down, focused on my bare feet as I spoke, the familiar sting of tears pricking my eyes. Fuck. 

Patrick seemed to accept my answer, for the moment at least, although that was probably more do to the kettle whistling than being satisfied with what I had said. He was quiet as he made two cups of tea, measuring sugar with an almost clinical precision before letting the bags steep and turning his attention back to me. 

“Ellery, Sweetheart. Talk to me, please?” The plea was quiet, gentle even, and Patrick’s eyes, impossibly blue behind his glasses, were wide and I wanted nothing more than to do exactly what he asked. The words were on the tip of my tongue, the whole story; Audrey, endless nights closing at bars I wasn’t even old enough to get into, endless empty bottles and, at the end, dirty syringes but I couldn’t, not now, not tonight. 

“I can’t.” My voice cracked and I squeezed my eyes shut fighting back the tears that slipped down my cheeks, war and traitorous. Patrick’s touch was gentle, almost delicate, as his thumb brushed over my cheek, catching the stray drop and brushing it away. His fingers lingered tenderly for a moment before sliding beneath my chin and tipping it up just a bit. 

“What do you need, B? What can I do?” He was so sincere, so honest that I couldn’t fight my laugh, dry and bitter as I looked at him. He didn’t deserve my mess; the baggage that I carried, although usually so very well hidden, was expansive, and that was without the work issue to even begin to touch on. 

“Make me forget?” It wasn’t meant to be said aloud, not even in the slightest but between the hour and the memories, well, my walls were pretty much demolished, any filter that I may have had long gone. 

“Ellery, I-”. Acting on pure impulse, fueled by the numbness that had somehow set in, I twisted a hand in Trick’s cardigan and yanked; his quiet gasp of surprise was muffled as my lips pressed against his. The kiss was not sweet. It wasn’t gentle or caring or any of the other myriad of words that could have been used. At all. It was desperate and needed and almost violent; it was all frenzied escalation and yearning with hands pulling at clothes and teeth nipping at skin. I didn’t think, I didn’t want to, as my hand slipped from the back of Trick’s shirt down into his back pocket, my fingers grazing against the leather of his wallet as I focused, as much as I could anyway, on the feeling of his lips on my neck.

“Hang on B. Whatcha doin’?” His voice was breathy and low, familiar in ways that I had only imagined, and I had to make an exceedingly conscious effort to focus on what he was saying. 

“I’m- ah- condom.” My own words were stilted as I tripped over them in an attempt to catch my breath, biting back a frustrated whimper as Trick pulled away, my hands falling to my sides as he stepped back just outside of my reach. 

“No, Ellery, not like this.” While his voice was quiet, it still seemed to echo in the spacious kitchen, spoken at that exact moment between songs where there was nothing but silence. 

Swallowing thickly, I brushed my hair back behind my ears and looked up to meet Trick’s eyes which were stormy behind his glasses.

“ You… no?” I parroted his statement back to him, the question obvious even as my voice shook. 

“No. And before you say it because I fucking know you, Ellery, it’s not you.” As much as I wished that I could say he was wrong, I really, really couldn’t and that did nothing to help. My cheeks flamed as I dropped my head, more in anger than embarrassment, but there was more than a tinge of that. 

“I know what I’m asking, Trick, I’m not that far gone. I just… I want to feel something.* I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze as I spoke, instead stealing glances through lowered lashes. 

“I know that B, believe me, but this isn’t the way to go about it. We have danced around this for months now, and it has been fucking hard, in more than one sense of the word. I’m not willing to risk what we have for what essentially amounts to grief sex. I won’t do it, and I’m not sorry for a second.” Trick’s words weren’t harsh, but there was a tone of finality to them, and a hardness that I had only heard from him a handful of times on set that only served to make me angry. 

Straightening my spine, I tilted my head up defiantly and finally met baby blue eyes. “Pete would do it.” 

“Pete would do what?” The voice echoed from someplace that was decidedly not upstairs, although it was thick with sleep. Trick and I both snapped our heads to look at the man in question, leaning casually against the doorway, shirtless and barefoot in worn pajama pants slung low on his hips, his hair still a mess from sleep. Patrick’s gaze darted between Pete and me with something that, once again, I couldn’t place and that simply pissed me off even more so. I hated not knowing what the fuck was happening. 

“Ask Ellery, I’ve got to go take a shower.” Trick’s tone was cold, and his face gave away exactly nothing as he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear as he spoke words solely meant for me. “Try not to fuck on the island while I’m gone, okay?” The hurt that the words carried was instant, spiking in my stomach as if I’d been punched and echoing, bright and painful in my ears. He had always been honest with me, but he had never, ever, been so mean before. 

 

My response was immediate, and I didn’t even realize what I had done until my palm stung and there was a red mark on Trick’s cheek. I held his gaze for just a moment before he turned and headed for the door, muttering something to Pete on the way by, this time not at all meant for me before the sound of boots on hardwood and a door slamming echoed through the house. Taking a deep breath, I blinked back tears that stung my eyes, silently counting to ten- a ridiculous habit I’d developed as a kid. It didn’t work then either. Opening them, I was met with Pete’s whiskey eyes, slightly blurry through the tears, but still warm and concerned.

“You wanna explain what the fuck just happened there, Bandit?” His voice was gentle; soothing, exactly what I needed and everything I didn’t wrapped up in a question that was far more loaded than I could even begin to explain; so I didn’t.

“Nope, not even a little.” My words shook with quickly failing resolve as a tear splashed down my cheek and I swiped at it angrily. Pete didn’t say a word, quietly crossing the space between us and pulling me into a hug, his lips pressed against my temple as he gently rubbed my back. For as much shit as I gave him, Pete could, when it was needed, be an astoundingly grounding presence, however rare it may have been. Another tear slipped free and splashed on his bare shoulder, still warm from sleep; he smelled just as familiar as Trick, but in a wholly different way, like leather and spice and moonlight on the snow in the darkest months of winter. Jesus wept. 

“I need- fuck.” My voice cracked and I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the sob that was stuck in my throat. “You. Come upstairs with me. Please?” The words were whispered, almost a plea spoken against his neck. In an echo of Trick’s movements from earlier, Pete’s fingers gently tilted my chin up so I met his gaze, my eyes still stinging with tears. It was silent for what felt like forever, before the smallest hint of a smile, however sad, tugged at his lips.

“I’ve got you, Sugar, whatever you need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on Tumblr. Come chat, it will be fun. I promise I don't bite.


	4. Where Is Your Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. So. I thought I had posted this ages ago, turns out I have the memory span of a chapstick and never did. Oops? It is short, I know. Sorry. 
> 
> Comments and kudos make the world go round for writer, truly. 
> 
> Not beta'd because... well, it is me. 
> 
> Thank you and endless love to Flames_And_Jade and SnitchesAndTalkers for their endless support and sweet words. I am so glad y'all like this little tale. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this little ditty!
> 
> Aural Pleasure: "Grand Theft Autumn/Where is Your Boy' by Fall Out Boy

The not exactly quiet bang pulled me from a hazy sleep and I blinked my eyes open wearily, squinting at the watery, early morning sunlight that poured through the windows. The windows that were in exactly the wrong place. It wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary. 

Waking up in a bed that was not mine wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence for me, but not being alone in them was a bit more uncommon, especially when I was naked. I’d had my share of one night stands, which was almost par for the course when you traveled as much as I did, but this was beyond different. My vision was still blurry but there was something more than a little familiar about the arms that were wrapped tightly around my waist, and the pillows beneath my head, so really that left exactly one option.

“Trick?” My voice was wrecked, hoarse and raspy with sleep, as snippets of the night before slowly permeated my conscious which was spotty at best right now. 

“Not quite, Sugar.” There was something heavy underlying the words, despite the voice being familiar, but I didn’t have anything even close to the cognitive reasoning needed to deduce what that was, not before an entire fucking pot of coffee.

“Sorry, Pete.” Giving up on that train of thought, I snuggled closer to the very warm body beside me, closing my eyes as I rested my head on his shoulder, Pete’s fingers trailing lightly over my shoulder.

“S’okay. Honest mistake.” His voice was not at all hoarse, there wasn't even a bit of that ‘just woke up’ confusion. It was quite the opposite, actually; Pete sounded like he’d already dumped a Red Bull into a mug of espresso. He hadn’t slept. It wasn’t an altogether unheard of practice for him; between insomnia and his job, he regularly went two or three days without sleeping, a habit that he’d had for as long as I had known him. The past twenty-four hours trickled back in flashes; the alley, the aftermath, fighting with Trick, stumbling up the stairs with Pete, sex. Very, very good sex. My cheeks warmed drastically as those particular memories came back in high def technicolor, and I pressed my face against Pete’s neck, taking a deep breath and coming back to myself as much as I could while the pieces clicked into place. “You okay, Sugar?” That worrying tone was gone, and my usual nickname was back as though nothing was out of place which, it wasn’t, not really.

I nodded slightly, humming against warm skin and enjoying the simple solace of the moment, surreal as it was. I had a feeling that it wasn’t going to last. “I’m good Pan, I promise. You?” I leaned back, tilting my chin to meet his eyes and was greeted with a bright smile. 

“B, are you really asking me that? Cause I’m pretty sure you know the answer.” I couldn’t and didn’t hide my smile as I stuck my tongue out and received a downright filthy leer; It felt better. 

“I do have some manners on occasion, even if they are rare, media training comes in handy sometimes. And yes, I’m really asking. You know what they say about assumptions.”

“Ellery, I’m pretty sure assumptions don’t need to be made in this case but if you want me to clarify…” The series of overly loud and exaggerated moans that followed were pure Pete, and it took everything in me not to laugh as I clamped my hand over his mouth. 

“I get it, I get it. It was good. Believe me, I remember, repeatedly. But really Pete, thank you for everything. You didn’t have to.” Once the devilish gleam faded from his eyes just a little, I lowered my hand and received a kiss on the top of my head. 

“No thanks needed, I promise. Now, you gonna tell me what was up? Not that I’m complaining but…” Fuck; there was that gravity again. Shaking my head, I lay back down, tucking my head under Pete’s chin to flat out avoid eye contact as Trick’s words echoed in my mind. I wasn’t innocent in all of this, but shit.

“Nope, still don’t want to talk about it.” I could feel Pete shrug half-heartedly as he accepted my answer, although I knew that this wasn’t the end of the conversation, not by a long shot. The silence was comfortable and oddly familiar, even as it was totally out of place in Trick’s house. There was always music or noise with him, it was almost a physical presence, whether it was the radio in the background, the tap of a pen to some melody that only he heard or his own quiet humming; the silence was unusual but not, in this exact moment, unwelcome.

“Did he come home?” Trick was never really a morning person, and he worked more hours than I did, so the quiet could very well have been chalked up to that, but something told me that wasn’t the case today. 

“Yeah, he was here, not for long though. He peeked in before he left. He slammed the door, Sugar.” There was an entire litany of unspoken truths in those simple words and I sighed as I hid my face against Pan’s chest, my breath ghosting out against the dark ink. Trick, despite having the face of a baby angel and the patience of a saint, was rather infamous in some circles for his fits of temper, rare as they were. There was a reason he was in the position he was professionally. The closeness that we all shared was a bit of a double-edged sword and there were more than a few times over the last few months that we each flat out pushed one another to the point of almost irrational anger. It never lasted though, not really, except for those times that it did. Even then, it was always resolved, usually, after a few swings had been taken, maybe some name calling and cheap shots. 

Trick was vocal when he was angry, always had been, preferring to get things out in the open, to scream and yell and fight, instead of keeping them locked inside. It was toxic, he’d explained, keeping all of that bottled up. If he hadn’t reached that level yet, well, shit was bad. ]Squeezing my eyes shut against the memories that threatened to spiral back up, I curled tighter into Pete, tangling my bare legs with his beneath the twisted sheets as he carded his fingers through my tangled hair. He was safe, in every sense of the word and I craved that, more often than I probably should. Tilting my head just enough to press my lips against the inked thorns that circled his neck, I couldn’t help but smile at the slight catch of his breath and falter of his fingers.

“Hey, Pete?” My voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper, and he responded in kind, a low murmur of acknowledgment that I could feel vibrating in his chest. “So, when two people have sex, and it’s not fucking awful, if they can do it again, they’re gonna do it again. And last night really wasn’t fucking awful… “ I let my voice trail off and waited, holding my breath for some ridiculous reason that I didn’t want to consider until Pete spoke, his voice gentle. 

“I told you last night, whatever you need. If what you need happens to be some no strings attached sex every now and then, well, I think I could find some way to hold up my end of that bargain for you.” I could hear the smile in his voice, and responded in kind, my lips brushing against his skin.

“The sacrifices you are willing to make never cease to amaze me, Pete, thank you.” As light as my words were, there was still a heaviness that lingered in the air as Pete tugged me tight against him, wrapping his arms tightly around me. He’d never had much of a concept of either boundaries or personal space, at least not with Trick and I, and that constant, despite everything else, brought a bit of unexpected solace in the middle of an emotional clusterfuck. 

“What can I say, Sugar? I live to serve.” That earned an eye roll on its own, although whatever I was going for was lost in the laugh that I couldn’t seem to muffle against Pan’s chest.

“ You know, anything you say can and will be held against you, right?”

“So only say my name…” I could hear the smile in Pete’s voice as he quoted the scribbled poetry that was as familiar as breathing, although his tone was husky with something unspoken, yet again.

“ Pete…” The word was a whisper, cut off quickly by a kiss that was both grounding and desperate in equal measure, and the quiet of the early morning was broken for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet I don't bite!

**Author's Note:**

> I am at AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on Tumblr. Come on over and chat! I don't bite. Often.


End file.
